


To Become Whole Again

by datbenik513



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22448674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datbenik513/pseuds/datbenik513
Summary: Ginny accepted a temporary job in the US and Harry's not really happy with it. Not knowing how to figure out what's really going on, he locks himself up, until a bushy-haired witch takes on the impossible task to teach him how to eat with chopsticks. Who knew Japanese food could change your life?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is inspired by and loosely based on the wonderful song "Mary's in India" as sung by Dido on "Life for Rent." Quote at the end is a paraphrased ending of the same song.
> 
> Universe not mine, characters not mine. Yep, I'm still broke.

The playful, magical green flames of the fireplace came alive with a loud whoosh and spit out the slender figure of a pretty brunette, in her mid-twenties. Hermione Granger graciously stepped out of the fireplace, put the oversized package she was cradling in her arms on the floor and dusted herself off with a lazy flick of her wand.

The sudden sound startled Harry, who was absentmindedly, without any interest, zapping through the TV channels, his takeaway pizza still untouched in its wrapping. He jumped up in one swift movement, producing his wand from Merlin knows where. Recognizing the figure of his best female friend of fifteen years, he apologetically shrugged his shoulders and sent the wand back to his Auror standard holster.

"Next time, please knock or ring or something, Hermione," he chastised her playfully. "You scared the willies out of me, literally."

The girl suppressed a smirk, enclosing her in a hug he reluctantly answered and planting a kiss on either of his cheeks. "Bit jumpy, are we, Potter? You keyed me into your Floo ward yourself," she joked, but her smile faded quickly, seeing the tired, resigned expression on his face. She could tell at once that he hadn't been sleeping well for the last few days; she read him as a book even if he wasn't complaining, she knew him too well for that. Her eyes quickly scanned the interior of the small flat he had been sharing with Ginny and she pulled her nose into a grimace.

It wasn't typical for Harry to live in a pigsty. Mountains of unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, clothes scattered around the living room, a few dozen pizza boxes, some of them with the moldy remains of what once had been a Quattro Stagioni or a Hawaii. And, what bugged her more, was the few dozen empty beer buttles – not Butterbeer, Muggle ones – that were completing the picture. Another bottle, she saw, was keeping Harry company, standing on the journal table.

Furrowing her eyebrows in concentration, Hermione plopped down on the sofa next to her best friend. Lovingly brushing his mane, she looked deep in his eyes, thankfully accepting the bottle of ice-cold Heineken offered.

"So, how have you been, Harry?" she inquired softly, taking a healthy swig of the drink. "I'm sorry I couldn't come this past week; we are two Healers short and we were forced to take double shifts."

"It's OK, Hermione, really," the boy tried to reassure her. "Still the same old story. Took a few days off, actually, to drown myself in self-pity and alcohol," he emitted a short bark, making a wide, circular gesture around the living room. "You know on occasions I tend to be overly dramatic."

"Yeah, you can say that," scowled Hermione, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, but not releasing it afterwards. "Still, I think even your Hogwarts dorm was cleaner and smelled fresher than this apartment. Your neighbours are soon going to start complaining to the police that you keep an illegal chemical lab here, judging by the smell of it. Ewh! Don't you smell it?"

Theatrically sniffing the air a few time, the boy shook his head, smiling at her for the first time today. "Nope. Alcohol took my olfactory senses and in addition I have developed snuffles."

Emitting a ringing laughter, the brunette curled her hand into a small fist and playfully punched him on his shoulder. "You prat! A lovely one, but a big prat nevertheless."

Faking excruciating pain, Harry pulled his featured in a mock hurt grimace and pressed his hands on the 'sore' spot. "Why did you do that, woman? You will be my death one day!" He turned his head to the ceiling and rolled his eyes, sighing 'women'.

Hermione tried her best to look embarrassed. "Did I hurt you, my dear, little, defenseless Harry?" she sang in a childish voice, not realizing the pronoun she had just used. The boy did, however, but decided to make no notice of it. "Well, it will go over, eventually," he played along, sighing heavily. "I think, for a more rapid and complete recovery it would be advantageous if you kissed it better, though," he blurted out, completely immersed in their game.

Hermione's face froze for a second. Then, she slowly leaned in and gently kissed the corner of Harry's mouth. "Is the administered medication working, Mr. Potter?" she whispered, the boy looking at her with a mesmerized, incredulous glance. "I suppose so, Healer Granger, but for a complete recovery the therapy should be repeated, I'm afraid." Snorting loudly, Hermione kissed the other corner of his mouth.

Flexing his bicepses, Harry's eyes lit up. "At last, my arm is complete again!" He said dramatically and began laughing, Hermione laughing right along with him. Turning suddenly serious, she cast a sad glance at her friend. "Harry, I'm worried about you. You might be joking now, but you look like crap and your house is a pigsty. This is not you. I know keeping order in your house is not your strongest part, but this time you surpassed yourself." With a tear in her eye, she repeated, "I'm worried about you."

"Come on, Hermione, you always worry about me, just like you have in the past fifteen years." Seeing her face being overcast by a dark shadow, he apologetically squeezed her hand. "It's not a bad thing, you know, you've saved my ass on more than one occasion by simply being worried about me. It's good to know that at least there's a single soul that cares."

Not quite understanding where he was leading, the brunette cast a questioning glance at Harry. The young wizard pressed his lips in a thin line, seemingly fighting an internal battle or two. The awkward silence that had been building up started pressing on them, but none of them spoke.

"Three letters in nine weeks. Three fucking letters, after eight years together!" Harry slammed his fist on the table, causing his half-empty bottle to fall, the amber fluid dripping on the floor and collecting in a small puddle on the stone floor. The sudden noise startled the girl and she shrugged involuntarily.

Harry stood from the sofa and went to his desk. Kneeling down, he started rummaging in the waste-basket and fished out three crinkled sheets of parchment. "Here, see for yourself," he snapped, handing over the letters to Hermione. Casting a wandless spell at the sheets and comparing the dates on them, the girl started to read the letters, the older one first.

" _My dear Harry,_

_It was a rough trip and took me a whole day to get here, but finally here I am, in Florida. The sun is shining, the sky is wonderful, deep blue and I'm having my breakfast at the terrace of the hotel as I'm writing this letter to you._

_When you dropped me off at the Harpies' Stadium, we first took the Floo to London Kensington, to the International Portkey Station. Then we waited for two hours for our Portkey to Paris._

_Those idiots in France messed up everything they could. At first, we had to wait four more hours for the next Portkey that would take us to Florida. Finally, when we were cleared, it turned out that our Portkey took us to New York instead of Miami, so we had to arrange another one. Gwenog was simply furious and threatened the poor guy at the Station that she would hex his manhood on his forehead if he was not quick enough. Needless to say, I was knackered when we arrived here and slept twenty-four hours in a row. I'm really sorry I haven't written to you earlier, my love._

_It's somewhat after 8 am here. The owner of the Miami Minxes herself will pick me up at 9 sharp and take me to the stadium so that I could meet the team I will be training for the summer. I don't know what the previous trainer has done to the team but they lost all but one match this season, so I guess it will a pretty tough job to put them together in two months._

_Even though it's beautiful here, what with the sunshine, the palm trees, the incredible white beach I can see from where I'm sitting, I'm already homesick and I'm awfully missing you, my dear Harry. You won't believe, I'm even missing my incredible prat of a brother. Please tell Hermione if you see her - I will write her as well - that I'm going to deal with Ron as soon as I'm back and that I'll even let her decide if I should turn him into a toad or a dung-bee._ "

Emitting a loud snort, Hermione looked up from the letter. Her hazel eyes meet the emerald ones, now twinkling mischievously. Simultaneously raising their right hand, they counted. "One, two, three."

"Paper," commented Harry as-a-matter-of-factly with an exasperated sigh.

"Yay, I win!" shrieked Hermione, raising her hand forming 'scissors'. "A dung-bee it is, then." Then she went back to reading the letter.

" _Tonight there will be a small get-to-know party at the Minx' Clubhouse, only the players, the trainers, the owner, a few sponsors and somebody from the press. I'm really excited but nervous at the same time. I don't know whether I will be up to this task. Flying well is one thing but teaching others to fly well is completely different, and I'm not sure if I have your teaching skills._

_I'm going to try to write you again as soon as can. I can't believe it's two whole months without you! It's just good that we have cell phones now so we can call each other in the middle of the night and..._ "

Hermione abruptly folded the letter and, slightly flushed, handed it back to Harry. "The rest is private."

"I have no secrets from you, Hermione. You know everything about me, even my sexual preferences," Harry shrugged his shoulders and took another, long swig of his beer, thankful that the Preserving charm worked equally well on both Wizarding and Muggle products. Emitting a loud burp, he stopped his mouth with his hand in embarrassment.

"Honestly," Hermione rolled her eyes, "you have spent too much time with Ronald. You eerily remind me of him sometimes."

Harry munched over this bit of information. "Am I that bad?" he asked finally, with a trace of a hope in his voice. Hermione shook her head vehemently, sending her hair flying around in the air. "Nope, by all means not. You would never hurt me like he had."

With great effort she took control of herself again, and took a few deep breaths. The pain was still fresh, although she was expertly masking it. Harry, of course, knew every detail, but Hermione wasn't the one to hang out the dirty laundry in public. She closed the door behind Ron and swore never to open it again; she was confident that she would never forgive him for what he had done to her.

She felt herself being drawn into a gentle hug, Harry's hand soothingly rubbing her back. She laid her head in the crook of his neck and enjoyed the boy's proximity, just like then, many years ago, on the stairs of the Astronomy tower, and many times afterwards when she was hurt. All these times, he was her rock, her support, the only solid point in her life, but now, he needed her support himself.

_It feels so... right, holding her like this, in my arms. With Ginny, I never feel this peaceful_ , Harry mused, trying to decipher the situation, but his train of thoughts was broken when he, all of a sudden, felt something wet on his neck. Her eyes still moist with tears, Hermione tried to smile as she abruptly drew away from him; Harry could feel her inner storm as she forced a masque of cheerfulness on her face. "Where's the second letter?"

Reading the date on the top of the page, she raised he head from the sheet and looked at Harry. Her glance displayed many feelings at once: pain, compassion, pity, but her hazel eyes were sparkling with badly disguised anger.

"Six weeks after her first letter. Are you sure you didn't accidentally throw out her other letters?"

"There was nothing else to ' _accidentally_ throw out' , Hermione," Harry spoke slowly, pronouncing every word caused him immense pain. "There were no phone calls I could have ' _accidentally_ ' missed, either."

The brunette stood up and started furiously pacing around the room. "Did you try to call her?"

"Oh yes, I did, numerous times, but her cell phone seems to be, _accidentally_ , permanently redirected to her voice mail. The only time my call was, _accidentally_ , answered, it was a half-drunk American bimbo giggling into the receiver, saying that Ginny was 'occupied' at the moment and she would call me back later. Before she hung up, however, I could swear I heard Ginny giggling in the background. Pretty much occupied, if you ask me."

Huffing annoyedly, Hermione went on reading the letter, still pacing around. The further she read, the darker the expression on her face went.

" _Dear Harry,_

_Sorry for not having answered your letters earlier, but I have been really busy and tired. Like TiRED, all Hippogriff-sized capitals._

_The previous trainer was an idiot; some of the Minxes don't even know how to properly mount a broom, so I have to teach them everything anew. The half of them are lacking even the most basic flying skills. Honestly, how could they make it into a professional league if they fly even worse than Neville? So, we are making long days, trying to catch up._

_All that said, people are very nice here. Much more open-hearted and easy-going, than us Britons born with a stiff outer lips. The girls are suntanned, slender and beautiful, I sometimes feel like an ugly elephant among them. I already made quite a few friends here and they frequently take me out to a discotheque, a bar, or to catch a Muggle movie._

_Please bear with me two more weeks, my dear Harry. Two more weeks and I'm back. Thank you for your patience, you know this opportunity means me a lot and I'm getting paid royally for the work I'm doing with these imbeciles._

_With love, G_ "

"How many letters did you exactly write to her, Harry?" she questioned in a sharp tone, slamming the letter on the journal table. The boy mumbled out something in answer she couldn't quite get. "Pardon, what did you say?" she repeated her question.

"Eleven," the boy said, just barely audible. Shaking from rage, Hermione curled her hands into fists. "The bitch!" she cried out in frustration, but, feeling the boy's piercing glance on herself, suddenly snapped shut.

"Sit down, Hermione, you make me dizzy with all that pacing of yours," chuckled Harry, patting the sofa next to himself. "See, I was trying to convince myself that I was wrong. I know how much this opportunity meant to her. She wanted to see the world, meet new people, do whatever she was good at doing. I gave her all freedom I could, trying not to push her into or restrain from anything she wanted. But then, she wrote this." He handed over the third letter to his best friend, his eyes not leaving her face for a second.

The brunette read aloud the date on the top - six days ago, her eyes scanning Harry's unshaven face, the bristle just about the same age. Quickly putting two and two together, she silently nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line, as she read further.

" _Dear Harry,_

_Yesterday I signed a 12-month contract as the official trainer of the Miami Minxes. Only hours before that, we beat the Oklahoma Ostriches 490:0 in a friendly match. The team manager was very satisfied with the work we had done these last two months and gave me an offer I could not refuse, including a six-digit salary._

_Please, don't be mad at me, my Harry. I know I should have discussed it with you first, but you know how much Quidditch is important to me! I'm coming home next Friday and, hopefully, we can talk about this._

_With love, G_ "

A few beer bottles shattered into tiny particles at Hermione's spontaneous outburst of raw, uncontrolled magic. Gently putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it, Harry turned her around and looked deep in her eyes. "Just breathe with me, Hermione. In...out...in...out..." he repeated in a hypnotic voice, and the girl closed her eyes and let herself be led by the rhythm of his breathing. In a few minutes, she was looking considerably calmer, and Harry deemed the time right to drop the bomb. Following his glance, Hermione instantly recognized the logo of a well-known, wizard-owned Muggle moving company on about a dozen identical boxes, piled up neatly in the hall.

"See, it was never working out between the two of us. No wonder that we're still not married, and as it looks now we never will be. I cancelled the rent on the flat, Hermione, effective 31st December," he announced simply, standing up and summoning a huge plastic shopping bag from the kitchen. "I won't be here next Friday, when she arrives. She can stay here until she has to go back to the States for the start of the Quidditch season." A perfect excuse to turn his back on her so that she wouldn't see his eyes, now moist with tears, he started to collect the empty beer bottles into the bag, directing the unfinished ones to empty themselves into the sink before bagging them.

Suddenly, he felt a small hand grab his arm and turn him forcefully. A pair of soft, wet lips crushed down on his and he felt her arms wrap around his neck as he, at first tentatively, later more and more confidently, answered, then deepened the kiss. A minute later, dazed and somewhat confused, he pulled back, grinning shyly, and Hermione stepped back one step, still wearing an equally dazed and only the slightest bit embarrassed look on her face.

"Come on, I will help to clean up your mess here, and then we will have a quiet dinner, only the two of us. Give me just a minute," she finally managed to squeeze out before fleeing the room. Closing the bathroom door behind herself, she pressed her back against the tiled wall and closed her eyes, trying to slow down her rapid heartbeat. _I can't believe I've just kissed him. Did I only kiss him because I pitied him or was it something different? Why did it suddenly feel so good?_

Fifteen minutes later, the living room looked considerably tidier than anytime in the last two years, neither youngsters mentioning what just had played between them during their magical cleanup raid. Now Hermione returned to her abandoned bag – a Muggle shopping bag, magically tweaked, of course – and started producing different items. A long, thin, colourful cardboard box was the first one Harry didn't recognize, and raised his brows questioningly.

"It's a teppan-yaki plate, Harry, a grill plate you can put on your table and prepare small bits of food on it," Hermione answered eagerly the unspoken question. "I think you will like Japanese food." She wasn't quite ready to mention that she considered this way of cooking somewhat intimate, reserved only for her very best friends and family.

With the plate placed in the middle of the table and plugged in, her attention wandered back to the bag, seemingly bottomless, and pulled about a dozen identical microwave boxes from it. Randomly flipping open the covers, Harry browsed through the contents of the boxes. Crayfish, neat salmon chunks, a sort of white fish he couldn't place. Slices of what he guessed was chicken breast marinated in some hot red sauce. Pork chops in a dark marinade, soy sauce. Sliced sweet pepper, cherry tomatoes, a half dozen quail eggs.

Raising his head in disbelief, he locked his eyes with Hermione's. "Are we supposed to eat all this proper?"

"This is not everything, silly," the girl smiled at him, producing a few plates, a bottle of sake - Harry felt the presence of a mild heating charm on it to keep it at proper drinking temperature, two minuscule sake glasses. Harry's stomach made a somersault as he recognized the last item, two pairs of intricately carved chopsticks.

"Japanese food must be the most dietetic one," he announced, replacing the chopsticks on the table. "I have never in my life used these sticks before so I won't have to worry about my figure tonight. Thanks for caring?"

Hermione rolled her eyes in an overly exaggerated way. "It's quite simple, actually. Don't worry, I'll teach you and if you do turn out to be a hopeless case, I will feed you myself. And by the way, this way of preparing food is dietetic. No fat, short cooking times."

Sitting down at the table, Harry assumed the role of host, pouring sake into the tiny opaque china cups, Hermione's first. " **Kampai!** " the girl raised her glass, then downed the wine. Lost only for a fracture of a second, Harry repeated the phrase and poured down his drink, which was less strong than he had expected.

"So, now you're acing Japanese. You don't do anything by halves, Hermione, do you?" he smiled at his friend, refilling their glasses. "Mostly not, I'm kind of lucky to be successful in what I'm doing," she interjected, placing some food on the already sizzling hot plate, Harry curiously eyeing the chopsticks she was expertly handling. "It's only my Ronald Weasley experiment that I could deem as a complete catastrophe."

He took his chopsticks and tried to grab them the same way he had just seen, failing miserably on more than one occasion. Then Hermione took pity on him and, standing up from her chair, walked behind him. Gently taking his hand, she guided his fingers until the chopsticks were in place and explained him how to grab food with them. Laying her hands on his shoulder, she watched, satisfied, as the boy at first clumsily, later more and more confidently removed the already prepared food from the grill and divided it equally between the two plates.

A tingling sensation gave away the presence of Harry's left hand on hers, still resting on the boy's shoulder. At first not knowing what to do, she gave him a gentle squeeze, closing her eyes for a moment and enjoying the warm touch of the strong hand on her skin. The turmoil in her head was growing and she reluctantly pulled her hand, fleeing the boy's presence and sitting back into her chair. Downing her second shot of sake, she quickly dove into her plate and stuffed a piece of pink salmon into her mouth to cover her embarrassment, feeling Harry's piercing gaze on herself.

"You are a talented chopstick student, Harry," she managed to blurt out, still munching on her fish,

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ronald," smiling warmly, Harry gently chastised her, dipping a piece of crayfish into a bowl of soy sauce and putting it into his mouth. Theatrically closing his eyes, he slowly chewed on it, emitting an overdone, satisfied moan. "That's heavenly! You simply have to taste it!"

Picking up a second crayfish, he dipped it again and directed it towards Hermione's mouth, watching mesmerized as her soft lips parted in anticipation of the treat. The last moment, however, his fingers shifted slightly and the crayfish slid from the chopsticks' grab. Harry thought he'd get a seizure this instant.

"Ummm... Hermione, you have crayfish in your ummm... cleavage," he blurted out. The girl looked down into her deep-cut V-neck and turned Harry-red. "Can you... I mean... I can't reach it..." she stuttered, wishing she could sink through the floor.

Standing up, Harry leaned closer, the next moment wishing he hadn't. While not overly sexy, her top did have a deep cut, enabling full visual and physical access to the area between her firm roundings and, feeling his hormones stir, he gulped heavily. After two unsuccessful attempts, he managed to remove the crayfish and sat back in his chair. Making up his mind in a swift second, he quickly put the bite in his mouth, delightedly licking his lips. Hermione thought she would faint this instant, but burst out in a ringing laughter instead. "Are we wizards or not? A simple wandless ' **Accio** ' would have done the trick."

"Yes, it would, but it would have been less enjoyable," Harry said with a straight face, offering her a tender piece of rainbow trout from his chopstick.

One step closer to fainting, Hermione machinally chew her bite, her mind in overdrive. _Is he flirting with me all of a sudden? Am I flirting with him? What the hell is happening to us?_ Grabbing a napkin from the table, she wiped the traces of soy sauce from her neck, her head engaged with one single question: _why am I wanting him to clean the sauce off my neck with his tongue?_

Watching his best friend, Harry's mind was engaged with similar thoughts. _Why did Ginny and I never have these moments? Why do Hermione and I have them, all of a sudden? Is it only our hormones and the lack of sex talking, or is there something different going on with us?_

An hour later, the two felt they would burst, were they to swallow one more piece. Fed, content, and slightly drunk, they sat back on the sofa and Harry switched on the TV, zapping through the channels, until he found Robin Hood, with Kevin Costner in the main role. Immersed in the story, Harry casually draped his right arm around Hermione, her head in the crook of his neck. He felt her hot breath burning his neck, causing his heartbeat switch on the second gear. His nose drew in the faint lavender scent of her favourite perfume Innisfree, his latest birthday present, by the way. Hermione said once it was reminding him of her favourite poet W.B. Yeats and his poem "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" she had read to him once during their hideout at Shell Cottage.

_I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,  
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:  
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;  
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.  
  
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,  
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;  
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,  
And evening full of the linnet's wings.  
  
I will arise and go now, for always night and day  
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;  
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,  
I hear it in the deep heart's core._

His heart racing, he gently placed his index finger under her chin and raised her head until their eyes met. He closed the remaining inches between them, his lips slowly descending on hers and before Hermione could say anything, her words got lost along with the rest of her coherent thoughts. His tongue lightly grazed her lower lip; she opened her mouth to him and her tongue came out to meet his half way, her hands making their way into his soft hair. Their tongues played a sensual dueling match against one another, Hermione slowly melting, turning into honey in his arms.

Much, much to soon to her liking, his mouth pulled away from hers and they silently watched each other with smoky eyes. Understanding the unspoken, Hermione smiled softly, snuggling closer into his warm, protecting embrace.

"It took us bloody long to figure ourselves out," she breathed into his ear, causing him to shiver lightly, but not unpleasantly. "Much too long to my liking." Planting gentle kisses on her forehead, nose and cheeks, Harry nodded his accordance. 

"I have been a fool all this time, not realizing what and whom I really want, and wasted way too much time." Melting in her hazel eyes, he spoke barely audibly, "... but I intend to make up for the eternity we have lost..." before he crushed his lips on hers again. She felt just natural, right in his arms; he knew she had always belonged there and he smiled when their kiss left them begging for air and their lips parted.

He felt home. He was whole.

Hermione's head fell back, her body shivering in response, as Harry started softly kissing her neck and collarbone, igniting a pleasant, radiating warmth spreading slowly over her body. Her last, somewhat coherent thought was that of being utterly content. _With him at her side, she felt home. She was whole._

_Don't worry, Ginny,_  
'cause I'm taking care of Harry,  
and he's taking care of me... 


	2. Chapter 2

"Wowzers! Just... wowzers!" panted Hermione breathlessly, rolling off her boyfriend. "Give me a minute until I try to remember my name, will you?"

The raven-haired boy exhaled sharply, trying to calm his rapid breathing. "Language, Hermione," he lovingly chided the young woman, now lying on her back, and carelessly draped his hand over her flat stomach, gently brushing her skin with his fingers. His touches electrified the girl's skin and she shivered pleasantly, replaying the events of this incredible last hour in her head.

An unusually warm May night, the windows were wide open, letting in the fresh air and the subtle noises of the nightly village. Their last cry of lust still echoed in the bedroom and in their minds, still unable to manage coherent thoughts, as they were basking in the afterglow of their expert lovemaking.

"Shut the hell up, Potter," Hermione observed him with large, discerning eyes, trying to look hurt and failing miserably. "You see what you are doing to me and what a bad influence you are? I mean... wowzers, you are playing me like a fiddle. You found erogenous zones on me on places I would have never suspected." His index finger traced a soft line from her neck down to her belly button and she shivered again. She almost fainted as she suddenly felt his lips, teasing, gentle, trailing the same line on her skin, igniting fire inside her again.

He met her glance, their eyes still clouded with pleasure. "I meant it, love, when I said I intended to make up with you for all time we had lost. You are the most incredible, most beautiful woman I've ever known and I'm glad I've realized it before starting to resemble Dumbledore on the latest edition of Chocolate Frog Cards."

She draped her arms around his neck and drew his head on her chest. Smiling contently, she gently caressed his unruly hair, not willing the magic of the moment to end. "Then, I guess, tonight will count with a making-up factor of three."

"Hey!" Harry tried to object, his lips still pressed against her skin, so his muffled objection went unnoticed. "I had hoped for a factor four, at least! It's just unfair!" he finally managed to breathe out, trying to sound somewhat hurt.

"Factor four, my dear Harry, is awarded to very special occasions only," she whispered into his ear, trailing small circles on his back with her fingernails. "For example the day when you made love to me in the capsule of the London Eye." She skipped a breath and forcefully pressed her legs together, trying to suppress her quite understandable reaction to this memory. "I knew you had cast wards around us so that no one could see or hear us or enter the capsule but I was still scared as hell. It was, nevertheless, an intense experience, going starkers and being made love to at 400 feet above London, to say the least. That one, sweetheart, deserved a firm 'four'". She decided not to voice her opinion about everything that followed that day; the urge inside her to be claimed by him started growing again and her blood pressure was quickly rising out of the pan.

After half a year of being a couple, every time they were together still felt as if it were their first time. They simply couldn't get enough of each other and slowly lost all their inhibitions, the once-know-it-all-bookworm and the shy, absolutely clueless - when it comes down to girls – boy.

Hungrily searching for his lips, she gently nudged him to roll over until he, carefully as not to hurt her, positioned himself above her. Softly moaning at the feel of his warm skin against hers, she felt her own body react vividly at his presence. "We still have many, many years to make up for, Mr. Potter," she whispered huskily in his ear before he set her on fire again.

* * *

She was standing at the window, leaning onto the windowsill, her eyes drawing in the serenity of the night. The full moon, now on its zenith, illuminated the landscape, wrapping it into its pale white cover, the contours of the hills on the background eerily contrasting with the blackness of the starry sky.

The silvery moonlight softly caressed her naked form, and to Harry, intently watching her from their mangled bed, it seemed as if her body were glowing with a faint light itself. He rested his eyes on her curvaceous frame, her impeccable, soft skin; he couldn't get enough of her and enjoyed every moment of having her around him. Even the blind could see he was madly in love with her; he had become a completely different person ever since they had finally started dating.

Very slowly, so as not to startle her, he got out of bed and, barefooted, walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. Hermione slowly leaned back into his embrace and contently closed her eyes. "Hey, Mister," she spoke softly, tilting her head to the left and slightly turning towards him.

"Hey yourself," Harry whispered into her ear, his hot breath escaping with a hiss from between his lips. "What are you thinking about, Hermione?"

"Many things, actually," she relaxed into his arms again, intertwining her fingers with his on her abdomen. "It's a complete fuzz in my head, but for the first time in many years, I'm utterly and completely happy. I'm thinking about how magical this night is and how much I don't want it to end. I'm thinking about how much I love you and how happy I am with you." He rather felt than saw her smile. "So, you see, all happy thoughts, and all thanks to you, my Harry."

"Funny, I was thinking just about the same," he nodded, his fingers trailing lazy circles on her stomach. His mind trailing off, he suddenly tensed up, his hand coming to a halt and the girl sensed the change in his mood. But, before she could say a word, he spoke again.

"I'm really scared about the fact that I'd thrown away 9 years of happiness searching for Merlin knows what and never finding it." His voice became barely above a whisper. "See, when Gin and I got together, just after the war, we thought we were madly in love, and maybe for a time we had been indeed. Only now do I understand, though, that it was partly also the calling of flesh, so to say, and the urge to do something with our freshly obtained freedom, the chance to behave as normal teenagers would do."

"I completely agree with you here. None of us had ever been a normal teenager, not with the constant threat of Voldemort, that blasted tournament, a year on the run, a war... neither of us should have been thrust into this." Hermione's voice audibly trembled. "We should have dated, loved and made love, quarrelled and made out instead of learning how to stay alive and not get us killed at least once a month. I guess the last one applies mostly to you, my dear..."

"You and Ron were there with me all the time, so it also applies to you, if I'm not mistaken. What I was trying to say that after Voldemort was gone I had built myself an illusion that everything should, would, could be normal again. It had been normal, or at least similar to normality, for quite some time, as long as the spotlights were there. When it all ended, Ginny got bored and I couldn't do anything against it no matter what I tried. So, the last 5-6 years it was only routine and some occasional shagging that kept us still together, but not the feeling we should have felt for each other."

"And then... you came into my life..."

"...and you into mine..." Harry completed her sentence.

"...and look where this had led us to..." Hermione sighed contentedly, and then turned back into his hug. "I do not complain, though, on the contrary; it's better to find late the one and only man I want to spend my life with than never. I have found him and I will never, ever let him go unless he says so."

Harry gently removed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, and looked deeply in her hazel eyes. "He will never even think of it, rest assured." He kissed her nose, cheeks, chin; slowly, gently, savouring her taste. "When you came into his life, you changed it, you changed him, and taught him what love, real love feels like, what it is like to love someone unconditionally and to be unconditionally loved. When one gets up and goes to sleep with your name on his lips. When he counts the hours, minutes, seconds to see you again and hear your sweet voice. He's now grown up and knows what he wants."

Hermione thought she had never heard anything so beautiful in her entire life and she may have been just right about it. Harry emptied his heart for her. Her tears, happy tears were now flowing freely, but so were his, she saw and she swallowed heavily. "And what does he want from an innocent girl like me?" She teased him lightly, trailing her fingers down his chest, but her legs were trembling with her emotions.

"Give the lad a break, will you?" Harry groaned, desperately trying to keep his racing thoughts and emotions under control, but his emerald eyes threw a few playful sparks. "I'm trying to focus here, you know, and you are not helping at all!" Inhaling sharply a few times, he continued.

"So, where were we, my dear Harry? Did you want to say something your girlfriend should know about?" she inquired innocently, seemingly not taking care about her lover's objections, tracing his neck with her moist lips, which elicited a soft moan from the boy.

"Hermione, you know I suck at romance and I'm still nervous when I'm around you. It's just that... I would like to take us to the next level and not sure what the right way is to ask... Move in with me, please. Well, you have been practically living here with me, these six months, but..."

"Too late to ask me to be your girlfriend, Mister. You missed the train, so to say, I already am your girlfriend, and as you said I already live here," she abruptly cut in. "You have to come up with something better."

"Like I said," he swallowed heavily, trying not to take notice of the sweet distraction she was providing, "I want us to be more than just dating and, seeing that you are already officially my girlfriend, the only thing I can think of is … As I said, I want to take us, our relationship to the next level and I want to do it right." Letting go of her with his right hand, he reached out, just in time to capture a tiny object levitating to him on his mental summon.

The very next moment the girl felt something made of cold metal slide on her finger and her heart skipped a beat when the boy went on one knee before her and looked seriously into her eyes.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I would consider it a great honour if you'd agree to be my wife."

The stars sparkled brighter in the sky, the diamond in her engagement ring reflecting the moonlight, as she, still incredulously, knelt down too and smiled at him through her happy tears, whispering 'yes' before he took her breath away with his soft, warm lips descending on hers. And then, nothing and nobody mattered anymore; all bad things, all horrors and pain of the past being pushed aside, leaving only the future they had wanted to share to count.


	3. Chapter 3

The bespectacled young wizard was fidgeting with his bow tie in front of the huge enchanted mirror occupying the whole wall of one of the guest rooms of Château Delacour. It was not even half an hour before the most important event of his life – marrying Hermione Jane Granger – would take place, but Harry was, quite understandably, nervous as hell and silently wished he could steal his fiancѐe and run away with her from the crowd. After all, everybody knew they loved each other and wanted to live their lives together and those few simple words they were just about to pronounce were equally good whether spoken in Westminster Abbey or in Gretna Green.

For a brief moment, he thought of using the Summoning Charm to grab his fiancée and Apparate away with her, away from the crowd. A few seconds later he sadly realized that he had no idea in which of the countless rooms his beautiful soon-to-be wife was undergoing the same hell in the circle of at least half a dozen bridesmaids including Fleur and Gabrielle and, as such, the "Accio" charm would not work. Making a somewhat agitated, shooing gesture with his hand, he returned to his mirror self, in his mind silently making up one sophisticated way after another to annihilate this unlucky piece of black silk he was trying to tie around his neck.  
Having sent his best man – and his best friend of the past one and a half decade, Ron Weasley – on a completely unnecessary errand fifteen minutes ago, only to have a few moments on his own, Harry had some time to mull things over while he was fighting with his wardrobe. Finally, his tie was done, and he stepped back one step, clearly satisfied with himself, as he cast a not-so-expert look on his reflection.

Suddenly, a soft but impatient knock broke the silence of the room. Not even turning towards the door, Harry spoke uninterestedly "Come in!" as he tried to smoothen a non-existing wrinkle on his tuxedo. A few silent steps, barely touching ground, and before Harry could count to three, the highly unlikely figure of Luna Scamander was grinning back at him from the mirror.

Harry had to admit that his friend looked breathtakingly beautiful. Her tiny frame clad in a deep emerald green spaghetti-top dress almost sweeping ground, the golden tiara with the three emeralds – one of Harry's wedding gifts to her – in her dirty blonde locks, she resembled more of a Medieval princess than one of the biggest experts of the century in the field of rare and mystical creatures.

Standing on tiptoes – Harry's brain, somewhere deep inside, registering that she was barefooted – Luna softly pecked him on both cheeks, than stepped back one step and examined the young wizard from top to toe.

"Are you scared, Harry?" she blurted out seemingly out of nowhere, her eyes curiously scanning the tired face of her friend.

Emitting a nervous laugh, Harry loudly blew out the air from his lungs. "I am, Luna, I am scared to Hell. It's worse than facing Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest if you ask me."

Slightly nodding, while her mind filed this bit of information, Luna Scamander reached for the hands of the young wizard and reassuringly squeezed them. "That's good, Harry Potter. You should be scared and that's natural. You remember Rolf, he'd fainted twice."

Feeling the warm presence of the two small hands in his, Harry already felt considerably better. Luna always had this aura around her that would melt even the iciest atmosphere wherever she would appear, that would lift even the most depressed spirit with a few simple words. She was a natural donor of positive energies and she was asking and - Harry suddenly realized, deeply ashamed – getting so little in return.

"Believe me, Luna, before you came in, I was already close to fainting once," he grinned into the mirror. "But then, an angelic vision in an emerald dress visited me and took most of my fears away as if they had never existed."

Slightly flushing at the compliment, Luna gleamed at her best friend. "Why thank you, Prince Charming, but I think you should waste your compliments on your much more beautiful soon-to-be wife instead of ugly me. Look at me! I look like a freckled cow clad into a silken panty two sizes two small!"

She gently laid her hands on her not-so-subtle baby bump, her face for a moment contorting into a painful grimace. "Hey, you two there," she called out, "would you mind stopping playing Quidditch for a while and giving your Mum a little piece of mind so that I could talk some sense into this one here?"

Harry's eyes turned the size of a saucer. "Two? W… wait a minute, you are expecting twins?"

Instead of answering immediately, Luna boldly drew his hand onto her abdomen and Harry felt something very much alive and kicking under the thin silk of her dress. "Boys, meet my best friend, Harry Potter. Harry Potter, meet my sons, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander." Expectantly looking into the young wizard's eyes, Luna was rewarded with another, huge grin that threatened to tear up his face.

"Luna, that's wonderful," Harry spread his arms and gently, carefully hugged the radiant young woman to himself which Luna was all too eager to answer likewise. Ever since her fourth – Harry's fifth - year the two had been friends for life - their friendship tested by danger, fights and deaths but never fading - and even if the two never had romantic feelings for each other, they liked to be in each other's company.

Holding her away at arm's length, Harry looked seriously into her eyes. "You are a beautiful soon-to-be mum, Luna, and if you say anything like this again, I'll hex your tongue to your bottom."

He was rewarded by ringing laughter, but the young woman soon became serious again. "I know why you are really scared, Harry Potter, and that makes you even more likable. You are scared because you are asking a commitment from Hermione, not because you are afraid to make this commitment yourself. You are scared because by carrying and baring your three children, she will suffer and will be in pain and you won't be able to do anything to ease her pain. You are scared because you will be arguing and quarreling and your words will hurt her. And, you are scared that when you sleep in peacefully at the age of 102, her heart will be broken because she won't be able to bear the thought that you won't be around in her life anymore."

Slightly astonished by these revelations, Harry was unable to utter a coherent word. Having already learned that Luna's words – even if they may seem out-of-the-blue on most occasions – are never to be taken lightly, he silently digested what he'd just heard. Feeling the turmoil inside him, Luna laid her warm hands on his cheeks. "Harry, this is your life and you have to enjoy it as long as you can. Live it well and have no fear, for you are surrounded by friends and we are all here for you and Hermione. After all, that's what friends are for, isn't it?"

For a moment, her soft, moist lips brushed his, and before the dumbfounded young man could say anything, she already walked away, moving across the room with her dancing steps, never looking back. Only in the doorway – the door opened in front of her by itself – did she raise her right hand, waving a friendly goodbye to him.

Still immersed in his thoughts but feeling considerably better, Harry quickly checked his wristwatch and turned back to the mirror. He still had twenty minutes before taking the plunge, he saw, so he poured himself a small glass of Martell Hors d'âge from the heavy crystal decanter standing on the small table in the corner of the room and took a cautious, small sip from the exquisite drink.

"You have to warm the glass with your hands first to let the bouquet come free before drinking."

He never heard Fleur entering the room, but recognized her slightly accented voice immediately. Raising his head, he regarded the astonishingly beautiful young woman with a brisk smile. Dressed in a very light blue silk dress with a deep décolleté that was enhancing her curves to perfection and hiding only the necessary without being slutty or ordinary, the young Veela walked up to him, the impeccable white skin of her long, taught legs clad in blue high-heels flashing from under the thin, weightless fabric, and greeted him in her usual way, kissing both his cheeks.

Patiently adjusting the brandy snifter in his palm, she took a second one from the table and poured herself some of the brandy as well, only to colour the bottom of the glass. She made a few slow circles with her hand, letting the amber fluid wash over the walls of the snifter, then raised the glass to her nose, drawing in the complex, intricate aroma of the fifty-year old cognac and the young wizard followed her example. Clinking her glass to Harry's, Fleur took a small sip. "To your health, Harry!"

"I have to be careful with this; all Veela are extremely susceptible to alcohol," she explained, replacing her snifter on the table. "Not that I drink much at all, but I thought I could allow myself as much freedom on the wedding of one of my best friends."

Watching intently the young wizard's face, she pulled a chair and sat down, indicating Harry to do the same. "You know Ginny and I have finally become very close friends, don't you?"

Harry silently nodded, not really understanding where she was leading this conversation.

"She happened to be in England when she learned about your and Hermione's engagement. The same evening she Apparated to Shell Cottage, fuming about 'hexing the bitch that had stolen her Harry into oblivion'. I had to hex her so that I would get her attention."

Astonished, Harry couldn't suppress a loud sigh, but nodded the patiently waiting Fleur to continue.

"I told her in a few simple words that you ceased to be 'her Harry' the same instant she had put herself in front of you as a couple, while all those years you'd been together you wiped the pronoun 'I' from your dictionary, putting her interests in front of yours like you always had been. There's no marriage that would work if one of the two considers him- or herself better, more important, more significant," Fleur went on, every now and then stressing her words with wide gestures.

"You know, ten years and two children later, it's still only Bill that can make my heart jump out of my chest and my legs wobbly with a simple 'I love you'. I may sound like a little tin goddess now, but I have always been beautiful, and could have had ten boys wrapped around each of my fingers, should I have wanted so. I did have quite a few lovers before Bill, but it's only him that I have ever felt safe and content with; he's the other half complementing me. I've been watching you two, these past nine years, Harry, and I've been watching your recent self ever since you came to your senses, so to speak," Fleur lovingly brushed his hair that, no matter what magic applied, still stood, untamed, to all directions of the wind. "I need to say that I like your recent self much, much better. It seems you and Hermione have found in each other what ten years ago Bill and I had. Cherish this feeling, knight in a shining armour, because you are one extremely lucky guy."

Somewhere in the air a gong chimed softly, and Fleur, making a wry grimace, stood from the chair, reaching for Harry and pulling him up in one smooth motion. Suppressing an inward smirk, she quickly removed the tie from his neck. "Men!" Rolling her bluebell-coloured eyes, she shook her gorgeous head, sending her silver locks flying around in the air. "Let me take care of it. For a moment, I thought you had escaped from the gallow's pole and taken the rope with you." With a few effective movements, she fixed the tie around Harry's neck and stepped, clearly satisfied with herself, one step back, to check the results. "Now you're ready to face the music and your beautiful bride, Monsieur. Since you sent your best man away – don't worry, he's already there, waiting for you - it's my honour to walk you to your Hermione. Shall we?"

Harry didn't move, only stared into nothingness, a lonely teardrop making its way down her cheek. She gently hugged him to herself, resting her forehead against his. "What's wrong, my dear?"

"I wish Mum and Dad could be here with me today," he whispered barely audibly, suddenly seeming very broken, while he tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

Fighting her own tears back, Fleur smiled at him nevertheless. "Oh, but they are here with you, Harry. Here," she pointed at his head, "and here," she placed her hand over his heart, "and here", she pressed his hand on her own heart. "They will be watching you like they always have and will be very happy for their son who finally got his well-deserved happiness. Your Mum will wet a few handkerchiefs during the ceremony and the Marauders will be extremely proud of you and making bets on how many children you two will have."

Even in his miserable state, Harry managed a half-smile, trying not to concentrate on Fleur's magnificent curves his hand was still pressed against. "Thank you, Fleur."

"There's nothing to thank for, my dear," the young Veela vehemently shook her head. "Relax; you'll be doing just fine." She hugged him once more to herself, firmly kissing his both cheeks and, finally, his lips. "For luck. Now we should really get going if you don't want to start your married life by being hexed to Jupiter and back for being late on your own wedding."

They walked down the corridor, hand in hand, every now and then sharing a warm glance, while Harry's hand was pounding heavily in his chest and he inhaled deeply a few times to calm down his erratic breathing.

Fleur led him through a secret passage that connected the château with the chapel, perfectly understanding that Harry wanted some time on his own before the biggest moment of his life and wasn't really up to chattering with any occasional wedding guest they could meet on their way.

They abruptly stopped in front of an ancient wooden door and Fleur gently freed her hand. Casting a last look at her friend, she machinally arranged his bow tie and wiped a non-existing speck of dust from the silken collar of his tuxedo. She briefly hugged him to herself, and then stepped away, flashing her trademark smile at the young wizard. "Off you go, your beautiful bride awaits." Turning him around, towards the door, she set him off with a playful slap on his bottom. When the startled young man turned around, the young Veela innocently batted her eyelashes as if she were saying "Sorry, I couldn't miss it..."

Harry, unwillingly, burst into roaring laughter, and the door, as if at the swish of a wand, opened in front of him, marking his first step into a new life. His new life with Hermione Potter-Granger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Luna and Fleur, two ladies I could have imagined Harry to end up with and, as such, have been shipping these pairings as well. Still working on my Harry/Fleur WIP "I Remember", too!


	4. Chapter 4

It's almost four o'clock and very soon a new dawn will break over the small, isolated Caribbean island. Our simple bungalow, the only building in a radius of fifty miles across sea and land, is silent and, thanks to quite a few masterfully applied charms, pleasantly cool, although outside, even at this late – or should I say early? - hour the temperature must be well into the high eighties. A few Muggle solar lamps, aluminium-coloured rods two feet high pricked into the fine, white sand around the bungalow, glow with a faint yellowish light.

The shadow of dozens of palm trees - dark, sharp, eerie contours - can be clearly distinguished from the blackness of the endless skies; black velvet embroidered with myriads of distant stars pouring their light upon us.

I can hear your deep, even breathing in the huge, soft bed beside me and feel your protective arm carelessly draped over my stomach. My skin tingles under your touch. Although it's almost four o'clock, I still can't fall asleep. Thoughts and memories are racing through my head as I mentally replay all events of these completely mad, utterly crazy, painfully wonderful past twenty-four hours.

There are so many things that happened this past day, things that changed the lives for many of us, forever; I don't remember half of them, I just swim with the current.

Six bridesmaids, Fleur, myself, two of France's best dressmakers, half a dozen hairdressers, stylists... Fleur insisted on having the best of the best on my wedding day. I can't remember how they finally managed to squeeze my ass into that dress; I could hardly breathe until my ribcage got adjusted to the strapless top embroidered with thousands of pearls. I didn't even dare to look at my mirror self first, but when I finally did, I got awestruck. I didn't even recognize myself in that sparkling dress that made my boobs seem one size bigger and my waist at least one size smaller, with that intricate hairdo, and I had to pinch myself in order to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Only the sharp pain caused by my fingernails tearing into my own skin made me realize that I must have been wide awake and all this was really happening to me.

I took a deep breath and cast a second look at myself in the mirror and I liked what I saw. I did hope you would like it as well, although Michèle reassured me that you could but hardly wait to peel the dress off me because you still liked more what was underneath. Boy was she right.

Fleur walked me to the door of the small chapel, then kissed me on my cheeks wishing good luck and left to pick you up. The door opened and my Dad stood there, proud and beaming, offering his arm to walk me to the altar. I wanted to smile, laugh, cry, all at the same time, as we walked down the aisle, feeling hundreds of eyes drilling holes in my back; for a split second it seemed as if I were the centre of the Universe. This feeling had passed, however, pretty soon, only to be replaced by the wish to be the centre of _your_ Universe, for all eternity.

Mum was beaming at me, sitting on the front bench, although her still moist eyes and her battered handkerchief were a tell-tale sign of her emotions having recently taken control of her. Beside her an empty spot – Dad's place, temporarily vacant – and two huge portraits, those of Lily and James Potter, my soon-to-be in-laws, happily waving at me as I was passing them by.

You were late when the door of the chapel opened again and you entered, followed by Fleur a few steps behind, with a slight flush on your cheeks. Not late enough so that I would want to hex you for being late even on the day of your wedding; I knew punctuality was not one of your strongest sides and I saw you were just as excited and overwhelmed with all that was bound to happen pretty soon as I was.

I saw Bill following Fleur's every step until she occupied her place, that of the maid of honour and I saw that swift glance and brisk smile she sent him. All the love of ten years was poured into that simple gesture and Bill answered her with the same smile. Did you realize, my dear Harry, did you see it in my eyes how much I loved you when our eyes and hands found each other and we made a tentative step forward, towards the altar?

I don't recall much of the long ceremony either. I was, of course, bloody nervous, most probably more nervous than during my N.E.W.T.-s and my heart was thumping in my chest. When the priest asked in his heavy Aberdonian brogue whether I wanted to take you as my wedded husband, at first I didn't catch a single word of his question. I didn't have to think twice in order to answer with a firm "yes", though; I couldn't answer anything else to that stupid question, could I?

When I uttered that single word, I was fully aware of what I had just committed to. To love and to protect, in good and bad, blah, blah, blah... Wait a second, hadn't I been doing that all these years? Hadn't you been doing that? Hadn't we loved each other ever since I fixed your broken spectacles on the Hogwarts Express? Of course we had, but we were too thick to realize, too blind to see what all this time had been obvious, too busy complying to the expectations that had been laid upon us. What could that simple word possibly change then?

Was I afraid to make that commitment? Of course not, I knew I loved you with all my heart and nothing could possibly change that. I knew I would always want to be by your side no matter what new adventures might come across your path. Was I afraid to expect from you to make that commitment? Yes, because I knew I didn't have the right to expect anything from you, and no, because I knew you loved me well enough to make that commitment on your own. I felt your love every single moment I was spending with you and I knew I would be making damn sure you would feel the same, until the End of Days.

My train of thoughts was interrupted by your excited " _Hell yeah!_ ", a very Potterish answer on the priest's question, that elicited roaring laughter from the public. Then there was a kiss, a kiss neither of us would ever forget, our first kiss as a wedded couple. The loud cheering and wolf whistling that followed never made it to my ears; I slowly melted in your arms wishing this kiss would never end. It had to, however; a muffled, polite cough of the priest broke the magic of the moment, a patient reminder that we, unfortunately, weren't alone.

Mum and Dad, both proud and all teary-eyed, hugged me tight to themselves, only now finally making peace with the inevitable; that I was grown up, independent, and as of today would be having a family of my own. I was trying to convince them – and myself – that nothing would change, but I knew I was lying to them – and to myself. Of course, nothing on Earth and in Heavens could diminish my love to my parents, but I knew deep inside that my simple "yes" had changed just about everything else and, even if I had been quite independent ever since I'd gone to Hogwarts, these changes scared the Hell out of me.

Fleur and Ron, the maid of honour and the best man and the two of us and the light bulbs of photo cameras – Wizarding and Muggle alike – flashing like the sky in a summer thunderstorm. Luna, very beautiful and very much pregnant and a beaming and proud Rolf. Handshakes, kisses, hugs, congratulations from families close, extended and adopted, friends, the whole of the Hogwarts staff. Kingsley, half of the Ministry, the DMLE, my St. Mungo's staff. Our cheeks covered with multiple layers of lipstick on all colours of the rainbow, our right hands trembling from those numerous handshakes and my boobs bruised by all those hearty hugs.

I was drunk with joy and love, but suddenly sobered up when Ginny hesitatingly stepped up to you. Your hand instinctively found mine and I felt you were wound up like a spring, waiting for something to happen. Ginny, however, just planted a strawberry on your lips, and then drew away, the fingers of her right hand lingering on your cheek for a moment as if trying to memorize the touch of your skin. Then she, halfheartedly, pulled me into a one-armed hug, carefully avoiding my eyes, then, sharply turning around, fled the church.

When there remained nobody else to be kissed or hugged by, Fleur gave me the signal and I sent my bouquet flying through the air. It, somehow, stayed longer in the air than the laws of elementary physics would have suggested; it made a few curious curves on its trajectory – I saw more than one wand pointed at it and trying to control good fortune. Finally, it made a sharp U-turn, only to land in Gabrielle's hands and from the corner of my eye I caught Fleur's almost imperceptible wink that washed away the last of my suspicions as to the source of this good fortune.

With the end of the wedding ceremony the handful representatives of the Wizarding press took their leave, being given understood that the reception was a family-and-friends-only event. Of course, this didn't apply for Mr. Lovegood, being a close friend, and the grandfather of my godchildren due any day now. His Quick-note Quill, for a change scribbling its almost indistinguishable lines not of non-existing six-legged and winged giant snails and the like, but of latest tendencies on magical push-up bras and the alarming tendencies of Muggle clothing elements appearing in Wizarding apparel, floated around him in mid-air. A few guests had also left, escorted by house elves to the heavily warded Apparition point specially set up for this single occasion.

And then, there was the dinner – exquisite food and 50-year old wines – and the dance all night long and by the time the clock struck midnight I had already kicked off my shoes and swirled around the ballroom barefooted, slightly drunk of joy and alcohol and with a huge grin on my face. Of all guests I was most delighted about seeing George again, after many years; he waltzed me around with flare, while Angelina – due, just like Luna, any minute now – waved happily to us while sitting on her chair, her hand draped over her huge belly. He was his old self again, although his hair was graying prematurely, never having gotten over the loss of his twin brother completely. He joked, he flirted, he bowed a la d'Artagnan after the waltz – God, how happy I was to get my old friend back!

The band switched over to a slow dance and you were making your way towards me, closing me in your arms. I felt home, I felt wanted, loved and cherished as we slowly circled around, totally out-of-rhythm with the music, and you kissed me again - the way only you are capable of kissing, the way that always sets me on fire - before you reached in the pocket of your tuxedo for the Portkey that stole us away from the middle of the crowd.

Michèle was damned right about that dress. You could hardly wait to peel it off me and I could but hardly wait to get rid of that freaking corset. I was trembling with desire to be yours, but you took your time, kissing it off me with tantalizing, agonizing slowness. And then, it was pure bliss, with bells and fanfares as Lady Chatterley would say, when you finally claimed me as your lawful and wedded wife. I was floating in the skies screaming out your name as the fire of your body and your love slowly consumed me with its roaring flames.

And then – emptiness. No strength to lift a finger, no strength to move, our breathing slowly returning to normal. Not a word uttered – our touches, gentle caresses spoke more than thousands of them. The only noise in the bungalow was that of the sudden breeze gently brushing the palm trees on the beach. I snuggled into your embrace and laid my head on your chest, listening to your even breathing as you slowly drifted off into the realm of dreams.

Sleep tight, my husband, my lover, my friend, my big child, my rock, the other half of me.  
Sleep tight, my dear Harry.

And I will sleep now as well, knowing that when I wake up, your protective arm will still be draped around me and I will feel safe, content and at home in your embrace. But before I fall asleep, I will have to make one slight adjustment. I will have to award this night, with the greatest _pleasure_ \- pun very much intended - the first "factor five" ever.


End file.
